


Catch and Release

by Nisachan666



Series: Vernal Motley [1]
Category: Changeling: The Lost, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Changeling: The Lost, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Changeling AU, Elemental!Rey, Escape, Fairest!Poe, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Ogre!Finn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisachan666/pseuds/Nisachan666
Summary: There are two main periods in a Changeling's life: "Before Arcadia" and "Arcadia". The one good thing that Poe, Finn and Rey can take from the experience is that they are some of the lucky ones who made it out to pick up the pieces and embark on "After Arcadia".
Series: Vernal Motley [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611880
Kudos: 1





	Catch and Release

**Summer 1986**

There was nothing on earth that inspired the kind of feelings that flight did. Secure in the cockpit of the F-14, he danced over the waves, swift and agile against the silver of the clouds. Climbing through the cloud cover, he suppressed a laugh, knowing that he was being monitored over the radio. Nothing killed a post-flight buzz like explaining to your superiors what you were filling the airwaves with chatter for. Bursting up and through, he was greeted by the sight of clear blue skies as far as the eye could see. For a moment, time stood still. There was nothing between him and that endless stretch of pale blue but metal and glass, but he couldn't find it in himself to be afraid. He reached a hand out and touched the glass above him, the closest he could get to touching the sky. 

"Black Leader, return to base." 

And there it was. He would have preferred to stay out a bit longer, but the last thing he needed on his record was a write-up for insubordination. A quick roll to warm up his reflexes again, and he was diving back to solid ground. A little steeper than the engineers would have liked judging from the choice words he heard over the radio, but what was the point of this exercise if not to test the plane's limits. 

Back on the runway, he couldn't help but look back up at the sky, a helpless grin on his face. When he looked back down to taxi into the hangar, he saw her leaning back against the wall, watching him. A civilian, her dress incongruously formal amongst the oil-spattered overalls of the engineers. What the hell was she doing in here, and why was no-one pressing her for clearance?

He got out, losing her in the crush of people around the jet at first. He watched people pass him through the hangar doors into the brilliant summer sunshine, determined to catch her trying to leave. Until there was no-one there but him. 

"And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod / The high untrespassed sanctity of space, / Put out my hand, and touched the face of God," he heard from over his shoulder. "You know what happens to those who go where they shouldn't, don't you?" 

Whipping around, he was just quick enough to catch her smile as she walked away across the runway. She passed over a heat haze and seemed to vanish. 

A few days later, he'd volunteered to test a newly repaired plane. It was later than normal, but not something he was wholly unaccustomed to. If anything he looked forward to the night flights more than normal. He'd take any kind of flying, but there was nothing like seeing the stars up close and personal. At first, everything was fine. A couple of aileron rolls to check the turning, and he was asked to head out further out than normal, out over the ocean. Something about testing the radio after some reports of poor signal. Any excuse for a leisurely trip amongst the heavens. The high untrespassed sanctity of space. The phrase from the other day popped back into his head, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. He wasn't sure why, but he'd not been able to get that meeting out of his mind. There wasn't anything in particular that he could point out, but whenever he revisited the encounter he would feel sick to his stomach. 

"Mind back on the job," he muttered to himself. 

He was preoccupied enough that it took a little while to notice the stars blinking out. He saw one go and didn't quite believe it. He opened up the radio channel, eyes darting between the other familiar points of light ahead of him. 

"Do you still read me? Over," he said. 

The reply was rendered incomprehensible by static. A couple more points of light swallowed by the void. 

"I didn't catch that. Over." 

More static. The view ahead of him was more void than sky. He had never wanted to be on solid ground more. 

"Returning to base, my equipment appears to be faulty," he said, trying to hide the tremor from his voice. 

Behind him, the lights of the city and the airbase were gone, replaced with more of the black void. The cockpit was filled with the shriek of sirens as all his instruments failed at once, the glass cracking beneath writhing vines and brambles. He had wandered too far.

* * *

**Arcadia**

The void stretched out around him, cold to the touch and burrowing beneath burning skin. His breath misted out in front of him, chest heaving with the echoes of screams. His throat was raw and he could feel skin break as tendrils of night bit in and withdrew. He wrenched his arms against their bonds, wishing he'd not wasted energy with screaming. He could already feel the void inching back up his arms, the cold gentle against the feverish heat that he always seems to throw out now, and it was gentle enough that he was, however briefly, torn between just letting it happen and redoubling his escape efforts. Sweet oblivion beckons. But the soldier in him, getting quieter by the day, reminded him that it's just a precursor to even worse pain than continuing to struggle. 

"Would that be so bad?" he heard, not sure if its his Keeper, some other poor soul trapped up here or his own mouth betraying him. 

He sees other lights around him sometimes, flickering in their places in the distance. Sometimes the flickering slows and is subsumed by the darkness. Sometimes they flare and burn with intense bursts of pleasure-fear-pain that he can feel echo in his chest. Sometimes they fall to the ground, a semi-solid presence below but too far to pick out any details. If he was ever going to get out, he needed to fall. 

"And if you die?" 

It's not like it's not happened before. Maybe. He remembered flashes of pain, the ghost of being ripped apart from the inside. That should kill someone, right? 

He was trying to follow this thread of logic when he felt someone whisper in his ear, "Maybe you'll burn bright on the way down. That would be fun." 

With that, his bonds were released all at once. It took a moment for the world to realise that he needs gravity to fall, and he looked down at his hands in abject confusion. The night seemed to have suffused into his skin, branding it with inky black swirls. Then he fell, deafened by the rush of air around him. The ground was hurtling up at an alarming rate, but somehow this still seemed preferable to staying up there. He closed his eyes and waited for impact. 

He doesn't remember hitting the ground, a gap yawning up between bracing himself and the feeling of a hand fumbling beneath his neck. He twisted away, eyes wide to take in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the Ogre. He saw a huge frame of dark skin, muscle packed in dense layers, shards of battered white-silver armour and a bloody handprint across the face. He froze in place, waiting for the hand to reach out again to finish the job. But the Ogre didn't reach out again, instead raising his hands up, palms out and empty. His eyes were dark and unexpectedly gentle. 

"Please. I don't want to hurt you," the Ogre said, his voice low and shaky, like he's trying to soothe a skittish animal. "We can get out of here together." 

"And why would you want to do that?" he replied, watching the other carefully. 

The Ogre thought a moment and said, "None of us deserve to be here. I can at least get you out, right?" 

He continued to look at the Ogre warily. Arcadia didn't work like that. 

"You're lost, aren't you?" 

The Ogre spluttered for a moment before deflating and responding, "I'm lost. I thought you might know the way out." 

It was the most human response he'd seen in years, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. 

"Okay, yeah. Why the hell not? Come on," he said. 

The Ogre was clinging to his hand like a lifeline. He hadn't the first clue where he was going, so he thought of home and picked whichever direction seemed in that general vicinity. It took a while to dredge up those memories, but once they were in place he clung to them. The tree on his dad's ranch, wind whistling through its branches. The heat of the summer sun reflecting off the runway at the airbase. The tang of sea breeze while on R&R. If nothing else, it had gotten them out of Arcadia and now they just had to get through these fucking brambles. He could feel thorns tugging at his skin, occasionally snagging and tearing, star bright blood oozing out over his skin. Neither of them commented on it. They'd both felt worse. 

"Are you sure this is the way?" the Ogre asked, voice soft and nervous. 

"No," he replied, but kept moving forward. 

The ground beneath their feet seemed to be getting more uneven and looser the further they go, but he refused to let himself doubt himself about this. So long as he's not going back, it's progress, right? When the ground broke apart beneath his feet, he lent into the fall. He felt the arrested movement and felt nausea roll over like a wave. He looked back up and the Ogre was holding onto his hand, looking devastated. 

"Come on buddy, we're almost there," he said, the feel of freedom so close. 

"We go down there, we die," the Ogre replied, gritting his teeth and trying to gain more leverage on the loose soil. 

"Please, just trust me. This is a way home." 

The Ogre was about to reply when the vines started to patch up the hole in the ground. The space around their hands grew smaller and smaller, until the only thing clinging to him were thorns. Even if he'd wanted to, the Ogre wasn't going to be able to follow him. He let go and allowed himself to fall for the second time that day.

* * *

**Summer 2015**

This landing he did remember. He felt the impact on the ocean like he'd been thrown into a wall, shocking the breath out of him. He breached the surface of the water, gasping for air. He shivered, the cold of the ocean seeping through the worn fabric of his flightsuit, and looked for shore. The sky was the vivid pink of sunset and the city was a mountain of soft shadows to his right. He was steeling himself for the swim to shore when he heard the throb of a motor engine heading his way. He didn't wave, still not quite convinced that he'd actually made it. The boat pulled up alongside, and three figures leaned over the side. He smothered a scream and briefly considered letting himself drown. Humanoid, but definitely not human. One was tall and thin, unnaturally pinched and looking like he'd stepped wholesale from a sepia photo. The other two were smaller and doll-like. The older one was broad with cobalt blue skin inlaid with silver detailing, while the younger was ball-jointed with a shock of red-orange hair and constantly jittering movements. 

"What the hell? I thought I'd left," he said, ignoring the tall one's offered hand. 

"Oh, believe me, you have. We shall have to inform Lady Organa of your arrival," he said, voice light and accent clipped. 

The older of the doll-like humanoid nudged the tall one, signing something with a long-suffering roll of the eyes. 

"Oh, of course! Where are my manners? I believe introductions are in order," the tall one said with a tight smile. 

More tired signing from the blue one. 

"Well, yes after we get him in the boat, but honestly he seems to like it in there." 

The tall one pulled him into the boat, not without a little struggle. Once they were all sat, their breath caught and not likely to capsize anymore, the tall one seemed to regain his composure. 

"I apologise profusely for the delay getting you dry. My name is Threepio, and these are Artoo and Beebee." 

He opened his mouth to introduce himself, when Threepio held up a hand. 

"I would avoid using your true name. We wouldn't want to bring the True Fae back, would we?" 

He frowned and rethought his words. 

"So where are you taking me?" 

"We've been tasked by the freehold to monitor this section of coastline for anyone who successfully navigates the Hedge. Any newcomers are presented to the current King or Queen of the freehold and offered sanctuary," Threepio responded. "At present, that would be Lady Organa of Summer." 

"Right. And is she...?" he said, gesturing at the three of them. 

"She is a Changeling as well, yes. Much like we all are." 

He looked down at his hands, startled to see that the skin, while not as noticeably alien as it had been, was still a star-spangled navy. 

"Oh." 

The boat returned to shore in silence, Artoo and Beebee signing at each other and shooting him concerned looks. They alighted at a small dock that was set a little ways back from the main wharf that catered to the tourists and fishing boats. He realised that he could just make out the silhouette of the airbase from here, and he felt a pang of nostalgia. He'd not quite believed that he was back until he saw that. But something wasn't quite sitting right with him. 

"Hey, Threepio, that's the airbase, right? Why is it so dark out?" 

"It's a minor airfield, mostly light aircraft, so there's not much call for it after hours." 

"Wait, wait. No. No, that's not right. It's a military airbase." 

"There hasn't been any military presence there for at least ten years now," Threepio said, ignoring the frantic signing of his companions. 

He felt bile rise in his throat, his pulse frantic at his ears, but managed to croak out, "Ten years? What year is it?" 

Threepio paused, finally seeming to notice his distress. 

"It is currently July 2015," was the eventual subdued reply. 

He'd spent the past week using Leia Organa's computer to get up to speed on what had changed since he'd left. He'd searched his name once and regretted it. He'd thought that the obituary (tragic flying accident, body never found) would be the worst of it, but that was before he found the conspiracy theory websites. Apparently he was a local legend amongst the more rabid ufologists, the poster boy for "abducted by greys". After that it had just been depressing, and the last thing he wanted was to be a burden when Leia was being so unexpectedly nice. She'd taken a liking to him and allowed him to stay with her while he got back on his feet. She had enough sway that she could even get him fake IDs, but he still needed a name for that. The paperwork sat in front of him, complete with the all the fake information needed for a new life, only that little box to fill in.

It took some time, but he eventually settled on the name Poe Dameron. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, the poem quoted is "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, and it's one of my favourite poems ever. I'll be honest, I never thought I'd be using it in essentially a horror sequence, but there you go.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something that could become JediStormPilot at some point, and my treacherous brain decided that this was the fandom that I smashed into a Changeling: The Lost AU. Turns out that you can only see so many fics with the tag "Poe Dameron hurts so prettily" before something starts to click in your head. I'm not sorry. 
> 
> Also, for those interested, I'm working off of first edition C:TL just because that's what I'm more familiar with. I haven't read enough of the second edition to really have an opinion on it.


End file.
